Playing With Fire
by Phantom of the Black Pearl
Summary: "Please," she pleaded. "Please, you have to help me." Sherlock identified worry and exhaustion in her hoarse words. Concern found its way to John's face and he managed to get the woman's thin frame back into a chair. John kneeled next to her chair and placed his hand on her bony shoulder. "Tell us what's wrong." She took a deep breath. "It's my daughter. She's been kidnapped."
1. Chapter 1 A Dark and Stormy Night

**A Dark and Stormy Night**

John sighed from behind his laptop. A flash of lightning illuminated the sharp-featured face of his flat mate, who was bored out of his mind. Sherlock had filled this particular Friday with complaints about the lack of interesting cases until John had had enough. He'd told him to shut up before he called Mycroft. Sherlock had glared at him and sulked for a bit, but after a while he picked up his violin and returned to a piece he had been composing. He had been playing for several hours now.

Thunder rolled deep and threatening, almost concurrent with the flash of electricity. It was pouring outside but Sherlock took no notice, despite the fact he was staring right out the window at it. He stood facing the panes of glass wearing a blank expression. His dressing gown flopped around slightly with each dramatic movement of the bow. The detective's mind was elsewhere while his long, thin fingers drew sweet notes from his beloved instrument. That is until he was startled back to 221B by a quite intriguing noise, or rather, a sequence of noises.

The boys heard faint pounding from the door downstairs and Mrs. Hudson answering it. They heard her exclaim:

"Oh my goodness! Are you alright dear?" Whoever was at the door they couldn't hear the response; Sherlock closed his eyes and continued playing. Then:

"Boys! This woman needs your help!" The detective's eyes flew open with a bit of sparkle in them. He gently put down his violin and threw a glance at John, who was closing his laptop. Sherlock made his way quickly to the door with the doctor a few feet behind.

The detective's bare feet plunked down the stairs two at a time and John held in a chuckle at his enthusiasm. He cracked a smile instead. The two reached the bottom and found a soaking wet, disheveled young woman sitting on the edge of a chair with her head in her hands. Her dripping hair was nearly black and pieces of it were plastered to her face. The free strands reached about five centimeters below her shoulders. When she heard the pair she jumped up and came toward them. She stood just taller than the doctor; about 1.7 m, the detective guessed. The woman stumbled a bit and John noticed she was shaking just slightly.

"Please," she pleaded; her voice was strained. "Please, you have to help me."

Sherlock identified worry and exhaustion in her hoarse words. Concern found its way to John's face and he managed to get the woman's thin frame back into a chair. A substantially smaller, but still present, amount of concern leaked into Sherlock's expression as well. He stepped closer and began his observations.

John kneeled next to the young woman's chair and placed his hand on her bony shoulder. "It's okay," he said softly. "It's alright. Tell us what's wrong."

The woman took a deep breath.

"It's my daughter. She's been kidnapped." Her eyes fixed on John's face and then on Sherlock's. The dark hazel orbs were nearly lifeless; they were imploring. John motioned to Mrs. Hudson, "Can we get a towel or a blanket for Miss…?"

"Langley. Maura Langley," she supplied. Mrs. Hudson nodded and tottered off to fetch a few towels.

"Please," Maura repeated. "You have to help me; she's all I have. I know you can help me, I don't know who else to go to. They said not to involve the police but you aren't police, right?"

"No," the doctor corroborated. "We aren't police. We just work with them sometimes." Sherlock scoffed:

"Work in their stead sometimes, you mean." John shot him a glare and waved away the comment.

"Ignore him," he said quietly to Maura. "He's not in the best mood today." Sherlock rolled his eyes and paced about the room to get a better look at the woman. Mrs. Hudson returned with three fluffy towels and laid one around Maura's shivering shoulders.

"Thank you," she managed. John took the other two.

"Let's get some of those wet clothes off you, shall we?" Maura stood, putting most of her weight on the nearby table, and obliged. As John peeled off her dripping coat she continued. "I've seen you on the telly and in the papers sometimes. I know you're good at what you do and you probably are busy-"

"We're not actually very busy at the moment," Sherlock corrected. A hint of surprise crossed Maura's face as she wrung out her hair.

"Oh… Well anyway I wouldn't bother you but I don't have the money they want, it would take me years to make that much-"

"You couldn't borrow the money from someone?" Sherlock interrupted again. Maura's lips tightened and she shook her head. Sherlock noticed she wasn't wearing a ring of any sort.

"Is the child's father aware of her disappearance?" The woman shook her head again.

"I don't even know who her father is." Eyebrows raised around the room. Maura sighed as if she expected the reaction. As she bent to remove her wet shoes and drenched socks she elaborated.

"I don't know who her biological mother is either. I adopted Emily when she was a baby. When I was twenty-eight I decided I wanted a child. But I happened to be single at the time and foresaw no serious relationship in my near future. So I made the decision to adopt. Emily is seven now." Maura smiled at the thought of her daughter.

"Emily's a lovely name," Mrs. Hudson chimed in.

"Thank you, I thought so too," Maura replied.

"Yes, yes it's all very touching but do we have any idea who took her?" Sherlock was growing impatient. Maura's labored breath hitched as if it pained her to think about it.

"I don't know," she said. She rubbed her icy feet to get the feeling back in them. "I've run all the possibilities through my head but I have no idea."

"Hmm," Sherlock mused as he thought. He paced back and forth across the kitchen. John turned his attention to Maura who practically fell back in the chair. The doctor's eyes narrowed as he examined her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Of course she's not alright John, she's just lost her only child," Sherlock quipped without looking at him.

"Shut up, Sherlock. When was the last time you ate something, Ms. Langley?"

"Please, call me Maura. Ms. Langley makes me feel old. I honestly don't remember… Not since I found out Emily was gone I suppose…"

"And when was that?" Sherlock interjected. Maura thought for a moment.

"It's been about twenty-four hours I guess…"

John's eyes widened.

"Have you drunk anything in that time?"

"I guess I have. It's all been sort of a blur…" she trailed off as the doctor took her pulse and looked at her eyes.

"Have you slept?" he continued his investigation of the woman's health.

"No," she answered.

"Do you feel faint?" John inquired.

"Now that you mention it, yes I do feel a bit woozy." John stood up and extended his hand to her.

"Can you stand?" Maura tried. It took a considerable amount of effort on her part and John had to catch her by the elbows so she didn't end up in the floor.

"Sherlock," the doctor shot him a look. The detective looked up with mild interest. John pointed up to their flat.

"Get Maura some water, please."

"I'm thinking," he replied indifferently.

"Sherlock," the doctor said again, this time with more force. Sherlock exhaled loudly, turned on his heel and went upstairs. John turned to Maura.

"Let's get you upstairs and rehydrated."

Maura smiled at him.

"I really appreciate this, I'm terribly sorry to be so much trouble."

John smiled back.

"No trouble at all."

They made it to the stairs with Maura's arm around the doctor's shoulders and his hand secured under her arm. The woman assessed the stairs; the look in her eyes reflected a mountain. "Can you make it?" John asked. Maura inhaled deeply.

"I can try." She placed her bare foot on the first step and hauled herself up with the doctor's help. They repeated this action on the second step, and the third, taking more effort each time. On the fourth stair Maura's legs gave under her. Luckily John had ahold of her and she didn't fall far.

"I'm sorry," she moaned.

"Don't be ridiculous," the doctor replied. He slipped his other arm under her knees. "May I?"

Maura nodded as she slid her other arm around his neck and John carried her bridal style the rest of the way up. _She can't weigh more than 60kg soaking wet,_ he thought.

"Water's on the coffee table," Sherlock acknowledged when the pair conquered the staircase. He gave no other sign that he noticed them from his seat in the kitchen where he was scanning the newspaper.

"Thank you, Sherlock," the doctor said as he placed Maura on the couch. Sherlock nodded.

"Blankets in the chair," he stated quietly. John smiled when he spotted a stack of blankets right where Sherlock said they'd be.

"Thank you again," Maura was able to mumble before her head lolled to one side and her body went limp. The doctor panicked internally for few seconds until he realized she had simply surrendered to her exhaustion. He shook her gently and managed to get a glass of water in her before she fell asleep again. He then covered her with blankets and joined Sherlock at the kitchen table.

"So," John announced pointedly. Sherlock tossed his gaze up to John's face.

"Will you take the case?" The detective dropped his eyes, straightened his paper, and replied matter-of-factly:

"I don't know."

"What do you-" the doctor stopped himself mid-shout. He repeated in a whisper: "What do you mean you don't know? Don't you want to help her? I thought you were bored?"

"I am. That's the point. I'm not sure yet if this is a boring case or not. I don't know all the details."

John rolled his eyes.

"What _do_ you know?"

Sherlock sighed, folded his paper and placed it back on the table.

"Thirty-six year old, single woman who's never been married, parents died several years ago, few long-term relationships due mostly to commitment issues. She doesn't like to depend on others. No one close enough for her to borrow money from, no one close enough to have any motive for kidnapping her child. Kidnapper obviously isn't anyone she or the child knows: they wouldn't ask for more than she would possibly be able to give them. That would defeat the purpose. The kidnapper doesn't have a personal vendetta; so she was randomly targeted. But why? Kidnappers usually pick someone they know they can get a generous amount of money from: members of high society, politicians, and the like. But this woman is barely supporting herself and her child. You can tell from her clothes: hardy, durable, and old. They look like a uniform. She's a waitress: stress on her hands, arms, and on her hip where she sometimes supports a tray.

"It's been over twenty-four hours since she slept, and she practically collapsed. That seems dramatic, but if you take into consideration her lack of food in about the same amount of time, her hysterics over her lost daughter, and a job where she's constantly on her feet it makes sense. The rain has washed away quite a bit, though. For instance I can't be sure if she has any pets, but due to her financial situation I'd guess not. Unless her daughter really wanted one. Then something small that doesn't require much maintenance, like fish perhaps."

John nodded silently. Sherlock would never cease to amaze him. But he knew better than to say anything about it anymore. It would only feed the man's ego, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He only did that when Sherlock was decidedly pitiful; which was not very often.

"Well, I suppose she can tell us more in the morning." The doctor went over to the coffee table and collected his laptop. He turned to Sherlock.

"I'm going to bed. Keep an eye on her for me, will you? Let me know if she stirs." Sherlock had disappeared behind the paper again and he gave only a disinterested "Mhmm" in response. John sighed and ambled up the stairs to his bedroom.

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Sherlock sat in the dark with his hands clasped characteristically in front of his mouth. He was leaned forward with his elbows rested on his knees. His pupils had dilated to absorb what little light filtered in through the windows. Sherlock gathered from the minute amount of natural light that it was around three o'clock.

The detective was mulling over the case. His mind had been driving him crazy in the past day or so and he was glad to finally have something to concentrate on. In the past few hours he had run across a few anomalies that made the case at least a seven and a half, and intended to take it. Besides, a little girl had been kidnapped and he knew the statistics. The chances of finding a kidnapped child alive decreased substantially after the first forty-eight hours. He wasn't completely heartless after all; though he'd never admit it directly.

Just then Sherlock was startled from his reverie by a muffled cry from the couch. He whipped his head around to observe the silhouette huddled under the blankets for a few moments. When Maura didn't move again he resituated himself so that he sat on the back of his chair with his feet in the seat. Sherlock resumed his earlier stance and did his best to block out any other distractions. His absorption in his own thoughts only made it worse when Maura stirred again.

"Emily!" she yelped. This disconcerted Sherlock so that he fell off the back of his chair. The resulting thud sent Maura upright; her breath heavy and eyes wide as a cornered animal. Sherlock lay in an awkward heap on the floor. He groaned and silently was thankful that John had not seen that and it was too dark for Maura to notice. The detective righted himself and made his way over to the couch. Maura was whispering her daughter's name repeatedly;

"Emily, Emily, Emily, Emily, Emily…"

Sherlock sat on the coffee table facing her. He put a hand on her shoulder and her head snapped up. She stopped whispering and squinted through the darkness in search of a face.

"It's alright. Emily's going to be alright," the detective assured. Maura nodded and took a few deep breaths.

"Go back to sleep," Sherlock directed. The woman lay back down and closed her eyes. The detective stood and pulled the blankets back over her. As he returned to his chair and lowered himself into it properly he only hoped that what he had just told Maura wasn't a lie.

_A/N: So what do you think? This is my first attempt at Sherlock, so I hope I'm keeping him in character alright. This is meant to be post Reichenbach, after things have sort of gotten back to normal. The chapters tend to get progressively longer so I hope you don't mind that. I am very excited about this story and I hope you are too! Please review and I hope you're looking forward to the next chapter. I've decided I'm going to put out a chapter a week, sometimes it'll be two because I want to have this all posted before the season three premiere (so excited!). If everything goes according to plan there will be eight chapters and possibly an epilogue. I've written an epilogue but I can't decide if I want to use it. I'll decide once I have the rest of the story written though, so don't worry. I want to say thank you to my wonderful beta mylovelymindpalace! You are invaluable to my process, as I am not in any way British and having a second pair of eyes is always helpful._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the show's characters; they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the writers of the show Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat._

_See you next week! _


	2. Chapter 2 A Woman's Touch

**A Woman's Touch**

7:32

That's the first thing the doctor saw when he opened his eyes. He lay in bed for a few more minutes before deciding he wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. At 7:40 John rolled out of bed, stretched, and ruffled his blonde hair. He put his dressing gown on and padded down to the kitchen to see if there was anything to make for breakfast. When he found the fridge to be uninhabited he went to the cabinets where two boxes of cereal greeted him. His and Sherlock's. By some miracle they did have milk that wasn't spoiled and John made a bowl of cereal for himself. He made his footfalls as quiet as he could, given that no one else seemed to be awake. On his way to the sitting room his suspicions were confirmed.

Maura was curled into a ball on the couch; still fast asleep. John placed his bowl silently on the mantelpiece and swiveled to sit in his chair. But he found it occupied. The skull was placed on the cushion facing a sleeping consulting detective.

Black curls reached down toward the now unobservant eyelids of the great Sherlock Holmes. His head drooped down by his shoulder and his breathing was even and slow. John smiled at the scene. Sherlock had fallen asleep in his chair while watching over Maura. _Good_, John thought; _it's about time he got a decent amount of sleep. But not here._ The doctor poked at Sherlock's chest. He stirred, but didn't wake. So he tried again. This time he got right next to the other man's face; lips centimeters from his ear, and whisper-shouted:

"Sherlock!"

The detective jumped up and looked around frantically. Then he fixed his bleary gaze on his companion. John failed to contain soft peals of laughter. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the doctor. When John caught his breath he whispered:

"Go to bed, Sherlock." To which the detective simply grunted and stalked to his room. He stopped at the door;

"That wasn't funny, John." Sherlock's drowsy voice growled a bit.

"Maybe not to you," Dr. Watson replied; grinning as he switched the skull with the bowl he'd left on the mantelpiece. Sherlock merely groaned again and closed the door.

Maura moaned in her sleep and the blankets rustled as she turned over. John froze. When she remained still for several moments he reclaimed his chair. When his bowl was empty he placed it on the small table beside him, picked up his laptop, and killed time until Maura woke up.

About an hour and a half later she blinked awake. Her eyes went wide, darted about the room, and her muscles tensed for a few moments until she remembered where she was and why. Maura's body then relaxed and seemed to almost resign itself. She gave a hollow sigh. Then the woman extended her arms vertically as far as they would go and roared silently.

"Good morning," John acknowledged warmly. Maura sat up and shook out her tangled, frizzy curls, then ran her fingers through them. She smiled sleepily at the doctor and returned the sentiment;

"Good morning, Dr. Watson."

"There's cereal in the cabinet and milk in the fridge if you're hungry," he remarked. Maura flung the blankets toward the back of the couch and stood.

"Well, as long as you're offering," she said as she unfurled her fingers in the direction of her toes. The woman straightened herself and proceeded from the couch over to the fridge for the milk. She placed it on the countertop and inquired:

"Which cabinet did you say the cereal was in? And the bowls? I don't want to rummage through your entire kitchen; I feel bad enough barging in on you like I did and taking advantage of your hospitality… I don't want to be nosey too." She chuckled. John shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. You came to us for help; we couldn't just turn you back out into the rain. Especially not in your condition."

Maura smiled.

"Well I thank you for that. Truly. Many people may have done just that." John had a feeling that the woman was speaking from experience, but didn't wish to push the matter.

"Bowls are above the sink. And there should be two boxes just there," he pointed a bit to Maura's left.

"Ah, yes, right here," she said as she plucked the top bowl from the stack and reached for a box.

"I should warn you though; Sherlock can get a bit touchy if someone eats his cereal," John advised.

"Does he, now?" Maura laughed. "Which one is his?" Before she finished her inquiry the man in question had emerged from his room and made a beeline for the kitchen. Maura stepped to one side as he answered.

"This one," came the smooth baritone. Sherlock grabbed his cereal and a bowl and made his way around Maura to the milk. She chuckled again.

"Alright," she pulled the other box from the shelf and poured it. The pajama clad detective settled at the larger table in the sitting room while Maura returned to the couch. She looked at John;

"Spoon?"

The doctor was befuddled for a moment before he mumbled:

"Oh." He got up, wandered toward the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a spoon.

"Thank you," Maura leaned over the table as he handed it to her. "I would have gotten it, you know."

"See? Doesn't like to depend on others. Just like I told you."

John sighed:

"Yes, Sherlock; I noticed."

Maura's puzzled gaze flicked to Sherlock then landed on John.

"When did he tell you that?"

"Last night; while you were asleep," the doctor responded as he settled back in his chair.

"Yes," Sherlock continued. "I also deduced that you most likely did not orchestrate the kidnapping of your daughter and neither did anyone who knew you well. Unfortunately I have yet to procure any suspects worth mentioning. Care to shed any light on the situation?"

"So you're taking her case, then?" the doctor presumed.

"I may as well," the detective answered. "I've nothing better to do."

Maura raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm honored to be worth your time and intellect," she retorted with a hint of bitterness.

"Yes, well don't be too flattered; less important things have captured my attention. It's all a matter of boredom…" Sherlock responded. The woman shook her head and looked at John, who rolled his eyes.

"Is he like this all the time?"

The doctor chuckled;

"He has good days and bad days."

Maura nodded.

"Well, I suppose everyone does." Her bowl was now empty and she got up to rinse it out in the kitchen sink. When she finished she strode over next to the table and looked at Sherlock;

"Thank you." She meant it.

"For what?" he asked.

"For not thinking I did it."

"I don't think, I observe. And what's there to thank me for? Facts are facts. I can't be held responsible for the fact that practically everyone else is an idiot and wouldn't have known." Maura just smiled and took a seat in Sherlock's armchair.

"Thank you, anyway."

"Yes, well the fact that you didn't do it means someone else did, and I haven't figured out who it is yet. So, is there anything else we should know?" the detective did his best to move the investigation along.

"Of course, everyone's got secrets. I've got a sort of big one. It's not so much a secret as it is just something that never gets noticed or brought up. I'm actually a bit surprised that you haven't guessed it already Mr. Holmes; considering everything else you've been able to figure out about me." Maura smiled mischievously. Confusion plastered itself to John's face and Sherlock narrowed his eyes. _What could I possibly have missed?_ He examined her again but found nothing more than he already knew. He glanced at John who still had the same expression. Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed.

"Although, to be fair," she added; "I've really given you no evidence of it thus far."

The doctor finally spoke.

"So what's your secret then?"

Maura laughed.

"I'll give you a hint." She traded her British accent for an American one and divulged:

"Let's just say I'm not from around here."

Confusion once again came to call on the doctor and he tilted his head to one side. Sherlock raised his brows and blinked. He accepted that he couldn't have known that from the information she'd given him and took the new evidence into consideration. The detective leaned back in his chair, placed his chin in his hand, and took on a pensive look. John hadn't quite taken it in yet. Maura took this opportunity to give him one more hint. She began quietly humming the American National Anthem. That cemented it for him. The doctor's eyes widened.

"You're American?" he demanded.

Maura smiled and her British accent returned.

"Yes. Well I was, at least. I grew up there, but when my parents died I decided to move to London. I've always felt drawn to this city… I've been here for about ten years now. I'd almost forgotten how to talk like an American," she chuckled. "I figured if I sounded American I'd draw quite a bit of attention, and I didn't really want that. I'm pretty good at accents, and the longer I lived here the more natural it got. It's second nature now. I got used to the other things too; like people driving on the wrong side of the road," she joked. "Very few people ask me where I'm from; most people just assume I've lived in England all my life."

"Did you leave anyone behind in America? Anyone you knew well?" Sherlock inquired.

"Not really. I mean I had one or two close friends, but the rest I haven't heard from almost since I left. My parents were pretty much all the family I had," Maura provided.

"Those one or two close friends, do you talk to them on a regular basis? Do they know about your current living conditions and such?" Sherlock interrogated.

"Yes, I talk to them on Skype now and then and they know about Emily and my job and everything. We visit each other sometimes. I haven't been in touch with them since Emily was kidnapped though, if that's what you're asking."

"It wasn't, but thank you for the information. Have you made any enemies? In either country?" he continued. Maura shook her head.

"None that have enough of a problem with me to do this." Her expression darkened; "As far as I know, at least."

"I thought you said the kidnapper wouldn't know her?" John questioned.

"They won't, at least not well," Sherlock assured. He stood and began pacing in front of Maura. "Anyone you used to be close to but haven't talked to in a while? Someone who doesn't know your current situation but knows who and where you are, and that that you have acquired a child…" he trailed off. Maura thought.

"I don't think so… I mean, there are a few people in America that I used to be close to… but I don't know how they would find out about Emily…" she answered.

The detective kept pacing and all three remained silent in thought. Maura followed Sherlock back and forth with her eyes.

"Hearsay," John blurted suddenly. Sherlock stopped and his and Maura's heads snapped in the doctor's direction.

"What?" the detective queried.

"Hearsay," John repeated. "Maura, do the friends you kept in contact with and the ones you don't still talk to each other?"

Maura thought for a moment.

"I don't know… It's perfectly possible I suppose. We don't talk about them much unless something big happens or they do something interesting."

"Is it possible that one of your friends ran into one of the people you used to know and told them about Emily?" the doctor suggested. Maura nodded.

"I suppose."

Sherlock jumped triumphantly. "Brilliant! Oh, John you are… not as much of an idiot as most people."

John laughed.

"Please, Sherlock don't flatter me. I've had girlfriends, I know how women…" the doctor sent Maura a tentative glance. "…talk," he finished. Maura grinned mischievously.

"Nice save there, doctor. Although I must admit you're right. We females do tend to… shall we say chatter more than is necessary and sensible sometimes."

"Oh, it isn't just females, Maura. Everybody talks too much for my liking…" Sherlock muttered. Maura leaned toward John.

"Does he know he's bad with people," she inquired quietly; "or does he just not care?"

John chuckled a bit.

"For the longest time I didn't think he really knew, but now that I know him better I'm inclined to think it's the latter. That's why we work so well together. I deal with people and he deals with… everything else."

Maura laughed.

"Well I tend to agree, anyway. Everybody talks too much sometimes. And at least he's honest. I appreciate that in people. I find it makes life much less complicated."

"I agree," Sherlock declared. "But if everyone were honest it would make things much more boring." Maura thought for a minute and shrugged.

"If you say so."

"Where was Emily taken from? Do you know?" the detective prompted.

"Yes," she nodded, "from our flat." Maura blinked slowly and shook her head. "I still can't believe they plucked her right out of the flat…" Her voice went a bit higher on the last word. John put his hand on her shoulder and rubbed his thumb back and forth.

"It's alright, Maura. We'll get her back; don't you worry." He grinned a bit to reassure her. She cracked a sad sort of smile and looked him in the eyes.

"Thank you," she said quietly as she placed her hand over John's.

"Well." Both heads snapped in the direction of Sherlock's voice.

"It appears we'll be needing to go to your flat, Maura."

"It's sort of a mess…" she fretted.

"Don't worry, so long as you haven't contaminated the crime scene too terribly." Those were the last words they heard from Sherlock before he shut himself in his bedroom.

"I suppose we'd better get ready, then." John pushed himself up from his chair.

"I suppose," Maura stood as well. "Is my coat still downstairs?"

"Yes, it's hanging on the kitchen chair. It should be dry by now…"

"Thank you." She sighed. "I must look a mess…"

"Don't be silly, you look fine."

Maura chuckled.

"Thank you doctor but remember what I said earlier about preferring honesty?"

John grinned.

"Well, you do have sort of a stray curl right here…" he tucked a strand of her hair into place. Somewhat pointlessly however, as her unruly curls were mussed from sleep. She laughed.

"I'm sure I have plenty of those."

"Yeah," John confirmed. "There's another one here, and there, and here…" he teased as he poked her head in various places. Maura giggled and caught his hand.

"Go put some clothes on you little flirt, and let's find my daughter," she commanded in mock urgency.

"Right, sorry. I'll get right on that," he replied with a smirk. Maura watched him go up the stairs and then pulled her boisterous ringlets into a messy bun.

"Not bad. Better than it was, at least," she commented on the reflection above the mantelpiece that was somewhat less raggedy than before. She ambled down the stairs to retrieve her coat and chatted with Mrs. Hudson until the boys emerged a few minutes later. The three of them bid farewell to the landlady and filed into the street to hail a cab.

_Well, now you get to see Maura's flat! Not that exciting I know but oh well. What is exciting is that I've thrown a bit of crossover into the next chapter! If you are a fan of certain shows you'll recognize some characters in the next chapter. I'm really pumped about this, I hope you are too! As always, thanks to my amazing beta, mylovelymindpalace! As for the frequency of the chapters in the future I can't say it'll be regular. But rest assured I'll do my best to get the whole thing out before Christmas. If everything goes (for the most part) according to plan there'll be eight chapters and an epilogue. I'll probably put chapter three out as soon as I get it back from my beta and go over it once. Speaking of, could you send some love that way? Mylovelymindpalace has informed me that their boyfriend was in an accident and was injured. And despite the fact that they are his sole caretaker for the moment they have still managed to get my chapters beta-ed. I cannot express my thanks enough. So if you would just send a little love to them, let them know they are very much appreciated. It would mean the world to me. Thank you. _


	3. Chapter 3 Home Sweet Home

**Home Sweet Home**

"Well," Maura began as she unlocked the door; "it's not much, but it's home."

The door swung open to reveal a tiny one bedroom flat crowded with pictures and candles. The place was littered with papers full of scribbled notes and phone numbers. A small square dining table sat against a wall surrounded by three mismatched chairs. Emily's open backpack was leaned up against one leg of the table. A black sleeper sofa rested on the opposite wall with blankets folded over the back and a few pillows perched by the arms. The kitchen was in a bit of disarray with dishes stacked in the sink and a few stragglers scattered about the countertop. A laptop nested on a smaller table beside the sofa. There were depressions in the carpet which indicated that one of the chairs from the dining table was often dragged over in front of the laptop.

Sherlock and John wandered inside and Maura closed and locked the door behind them.

"So," she asked, "where do we start?"

Sherlock meandered about the flat examining everything.

"Contact your friends; see who they may have talked to about Emily. We need to narrow our suspect pool."

Maura nodded and pulled a chair over to her laptop.

"John, go and talk to a few of the neighbors; find out if they saw anything the day Emily was taken. Maura your door is rather intact, meaning either that they had a key, Emily let them in, or they picked the lock."

Maura shook her head.

"I always tell her never to open the door when she's here alone. Not even if she thinks it's me. Emily and I are the only ones who have keys. Unless…"

"Unless what?" John questioned.

"Unless the doorman let them in," Sherlock finished.

"Exactly what I was thinking, but I don't think he would. I've been living here since I moved from America; he knows me, and Emily. He knows I don't get visitors often, especially ones he's never seen before."

"Brilliant. So he'd remember this person if they'd never come here before?" Sherlock inquired.

"Yes, he's good with faces," Maura replied.

"Perfect. John when you get done with the neighbors, go talk to the doorman."

"Why do I have to do all the talking? What are you going to do?"

"You know I'm not the best with people. You're friendly. I'm…"

"Prickly." Maura supplied. Sherlock shot her a glance but didn't protest.

"Anyway I'm going to stay here and attempt to get an idea of where they went."

"How are you going to do that from here?" Maura challenged.

"Observation," he provided simply. "I need a few more minutes with the crime scene to get everything I can out of it. Have you moved anything Maura?"

"Not really, just scattered some papers here and there."

"What happened that night, Maura? When Emily was kidnapped?" John queried.

Maura took a deep breath.

"The night before last I came home from work and Emily wasn't here. It was late; she should have been home from school for several hours by then. Emily usually stays with my neighbor for a few hours when I work late. Mary has two young boys of her own and I hate to ask her, but I can't afford a sitter and I won't leave Emily alone for that long. I watch the boys for her sometimes too; we've developed a sort of system… Anyway Emily usually comes back over here an hour or so after supper to do her homework.

"When I got home and she wasn't here I called her, but the cell I let her use sometimes is in her backpack. I went over and knocked on Mary's door to see if she was there, but she wasn't. I realized Emily was gone and I called everyone I could think of to see if they'd seen her… No one had of course. Then I grabbed a picture of her and went looking everywhere I thought she could possibly have gone. I didn't find her, and no one I asked had seen her. I was out all night and into the next day. When it got to be afternoon I came back home and there was a message on my land line telling me that Emily had been kidnapped and that they wanted a million dollars or I'd never see her again. I exhausted every avenue I could think of but there's no way I could get that kind of money in time. That's when I came to you," she finished.

Sherlock had been listening intently whilst he roamed about the flat. He had stopped at the window by the fire escape and was studying it.

"Find something, Sherlock?" John asked.

The detective kept looking at the window sill.

"Do you open this window often?"

"No," Maura responded. "It's usually too cold. Sometimes in the summer Emily asks me to. She's more used to the weather here than I am."

"May I?" he gestured to the window.

"Be my guest."

Sherlock struggled, but managed to open the window with some difficulty. He nodded to himself as though confirming something.

"Emily wouldn't have been able to open this window."

Maura shook her head.

"No, I always have to. I have about as much trouble doing it as you did."

"And it wouldn't have been open already…"

"Where are you going with this, Sherlock?" the doctor prodded.

The detective crouched, bringing himself at eye level with the window sill.

"There are scratches on the sill; some of the paint has even come off. The directionality suggests that someone, probably Emily, tried to hold on to the window sill but was dragged away by someone stronger." Sherlock stood and turned to look at them. "I think she was taken through the window and down the fire escape. Unfortunately beyond that there's really no telling where they went."

Maura put her hand over her mouth and shut her eyes tight. She took a deep breath and held in a sob, but a quiet whimper escaped. She let the breath go and composed herself. The woman's grave gaze fell on Sherlock.

"Find my daughter, Mr. Holmes." Then she softened a bit, and turned her eyes on the doctor.

"I beg you."

"Sherlock, please," the detective insisted. "And I promise you we will."

"I trust you."

Sherlock smiled.

"Come John, let's go interrogate some neighbors."

"Oh, so now you're coming with me?"

"Of course, I've nothing left to do here. I'll be more useful with the doorman than with Maura's friends, I think. Perhaps I can try the memory technique I've been perfecting…"

"What, are you going to spin him around in a circle as well?" John joked, recalling a case they'd worked during which Sherlock had done just that to try to get him to remember some symbols. Maura raised an eyebrow.

"What? No, why would I do that?"

The doctor shook his head.

"Never mind, don't worry about it. Let's start with the woman who keeps Emily. Mary, you said?"

Maura nodded.

"Yes. She's right across from me. Try not to be too loud, the baby might be asleep."

"The baby?" John wondered.

"Yes, Sam's, well I guess he's not exactly a baby anymore. More of a toddler, he's two, I think. Dean is the same age as Emily; they're in the same class."

"Right, we'll keep that in mind," Sherlock opened the door. "Call us if you find out something of importance," he tossed the command over his shoulder as he walked out.

"Right, will do. You boys do the same!" Maura countered. John nodded as he closed the door behind them.

"We will!"

Maura turned to her laptop. She logged into Skype, clicked the contact, and held her breath waiting for the call to go through. Thankfully it did; she exhaled.

"Sarah! You've no idea how happy I am to see your face. I'm so glad you answered."

"You got lucky; Vivian's here for a visit right now actually, so you've got both of us," Sarah informed her. An identical face popped into view.

"Hey, Maura! What are you and Emily up to?" Vivian asked.

"Well, actually that's what I want to talk to you about. It looks like we've got some catching up to do…"

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

**Knock knock knock**

John rapped his knuckles against the door gingerly, remembering Maura's warning. The two stood idle for a moment. Then from inside:

"Coming!"

They heard bare footsteps and then the door opened. A blonde woman whose loosely curled hair framed her confused, but lovely face stood there silently. She looked the men up and down with beautiful blue eyes.

"Mary?" John began. The woman narrowed her eyes and nodded.

"Yes, I'm Mary Winchester… Can I help you?" She was American.

"I'm John Watson and this is Sherlock Holmes; we're here to help Maura…"

"Yes, she's my neighbor across the hall. She came to me in a fuss the other night wondering if Emily was here and I haven't seen her since… Are they alright?"

"Well, actually that's why we're here. You see Emily's been… kidnapped. And we're trying to find her."

Mary gasped.

"Oh my god that's awful! Is there anything I can do?"

Just then a small boy drifted to Mary's side and fastened himself to her.

"Is everything okay Mommy?" She placed her hand on his head and rubbed her thumb back and forth in his light brown hair.

"Yes, I'm alright honey. Go and get your brother, will you? It's about time for lunch."

"Okay. Can I help feed him this time, Mommy? Please?"

Mary laughed warmly.

"Yes, but just wait a minute, okay? Let me get things ready."

The boy nodded and dashed off. Mary smiled.

"I can't imagine what I would do if somebody took one of my boys… I'll go over in a bit to check on Maura."

"Are you busy? We could come back later…" John nodded in the direction the boy had gone. Mary waved the question away.

"No, it's fine; come in. I want to do anything I can to help." She turned and walked into the kitchen. The boys followed and closed the door.

"Do you remember anything strange happening the night before last?" the doctor probed.

"Anything in particular?"

"Between the time that Emily left here and the time that Maura came looking for her did anything out of the ordinary happen?" Sherlock interrogated. Mary shook her head.

"Not that I remember. Thank you Dean," she said as the boy cautiously handed over his toddling brother. John smiled.

"He's beautiful."

Mary's face brightened.

"Thank you." The older boy walked up to the doctor and proudly declared:

"His name's Sammy. He's my brother."

John looked at him.

"Your brother is lovely, Dean. I bet you have a lot of fun with him." Dean nodded vigorously.

"He's my best friend! Well, except for Emily and Cas. He's really annoying sometimes though…" He looked up at Sherlock, who stared back down at him with a mixture of mild interest, terror, and a hint of hope.

"Who are you?"

The detective remained silent for a moment before removing his right hand from his coat pocket and extending it to the boy.

"Sherlock Holmes." His voice was a bit cold and mechanical out of habit. But Dean wasn't threatened. He shook his hand and replied:

"Dean Winchester. You're really tall, Sherlock."

Mary and John both cracked a smile at that. Then the detective did something a bit surprising. He crouched in front of Dean and, closer to his eye level now, asked:

"Better?" The boy scrutinized Sherlock for a moment and nodded once, seeming satisfied.

"Yes," Dean replied.

"Good. Can you tell me if you remember seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary after Emily went home the night before last?"

"Well…" Dean looked at the floor, glanced at his mother, then back at the floor. Sherlock understood.

"It's alright, you can tell me. You won't get in trouble. You can whisper it in my ear if you like."

Dean nodded and leaned closer. Sherlock obliged and turned his ear toward the boy. Dean whispered for almost a minute, and Sherlock nodded every now and then. When Dean pulled away Sherlock stood.

"You won't tell Mommy will you?" he whispered. Sherlock shook his head.

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"Okay," the boy smiled.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Winchester." Sherlock extended his hand again.

"You're welcome Mr. Holmes," Dean answered and shook his hand.

"Well, John, time to move on."

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Winchester," the doctor said.

Mary nodded. They turned to go but before they made it out the door Sherlock felt a tug on his coat.

"You'll find Emily, right?"

"Yes, Dean. We'll find her," Sherlock replied.

"You swear?"

"We swear," the doctor and detective promised simultaneously. Dean let go of Sherlock's coat.

"Tell her I said hi."

"We will," John smiled. They left the flat and closed the door. The doctor looked to his friend. "Who's next?"

"That one," Sherlock pointed to the flat on the right of Maura's.

The detective knocked this time. While they waited for an answer John said:

"That was… That was good, Sherlock."

The detective looked at him quizzically.

"Yes… We got some information. That's always good."

"No, I meant… With the kid… with Dean; that was nice."

"Nice is not a word that has ever been used to describe me."

John rolled his eyes.

"What did he tell you anyway?" Sherlock opened his mouth but just then the door followed suit.

"Hello?" A woman with red hair well past her shoulders poked her head out. Her hazel eyes pinned John to his spot.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," the detective announced. "This is my friend John Watson."

"Amy Williams," she countered as a lanky man with a mess of brown hair walked up behind her. "This is my husband Rory."

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Having questioned a few of Maura's neighbors the boys were headed downstairs to speak with the doorman. Amy and Rory hadn't noticed anything odd the night of the kidnapping. After talking to them Sherlock and John had gone to the flat on the other side of Maura's. A gruff man with a short, scruffy beard and a baseball cap had answered the door. The man said his name was Bobby; he lived there with his wife Karen and their young son Castiel. The boy apparently fancied running around in a pair of wings pretending to be an angel. This was the Cas that Dean had mentioned. Bobby and Karen hadn't heard anything, but Cas had confessed something that confirmed Dean's story. He had also mentioned that he heard a scream come from Maura's flat that night, but thought it had been the telly. Then Maura had called John to tell him she'd found something, and to come back to the flat after they talked to the doorman. All in all it had been a relatively fruitful venture. Now it was time to find out if they could get a face to match.

"Can I help you?"

The voice seemed to float out of nowhere. John and Sherlock looked around for the source.

"Over here," it called. The man that belonged to the voice stepped out of the shadows.

"When you have a job like mine you have to know your building," he chuckled.

When the doctor and detective remained silent he continued.

"You boys came here with Ms. Maura. You're helping her find Emily?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

"Emily's a wonderful little girl, Mr. Holmes. I hope you and Dr. Watson can find her soon." He paused. "Don't look so surprised; I watch telly. You two are pretty famous. Coming back from the dead tends to attract copious amounts of attention. The last guy that did it has a holiday," the man smirked. The two friends couldn't help but do the same.

"We need to ask you a few questions," John said.

"If it'll help you find her, I'll tell you whatever you want to know," the doorman granted.

"Maura said you were good with faces. Do you remember anyone strange coming through here the night before last?" Sherlock prompted.

"I remember everyone that comes through here," he began. "That night two American women I'd never seen before came in. One of them was blonde with long, straight hair and blue eyes. The other one was a few inches shorter and had short, dark hair and brown eyes. Both of them were skinny and seemed sorta jumpy. They told me they were friends of Maura's, asked me which flat she lived in. Only they said apartment instead of flat. I told them no disrespect, but I don't do that. Asked them why Maura didn't give them her address. They said they were going to surprise her. I thought yeah, right. The only people who have ever visited her are those twins she's so fond of. Why should that change now? So I told them I couldn't let them in, but if they wanted to wait here for Maura they were more than welcome. They declined, and left. Who comes from America to London on a random Thursday, anyway?" the man finished. John shrugged;

"Kidnappers, I suppose."

"You think they're the ones who took her?"

"We're entertaining the possibility," Sherlock retorted.

"Well the only way I can think that they found out which flat is hers is the board out there. There's a list of our tenants, but a lot of people don't notice it because it was poorly placed. If you were looking for it though, it wouldn't be too terribly hard to find," the doorman provided.

"Well, thank you very much for your time. You've been very helpful. Is there anything else we should know?" John inquired.

"Yes. The only other way they could have gotten up there is the stairwell on the other side of the building. Nobody goes over there usually, and most people forget it exists. I've been trying to get a lock put on it, but it hasn't happened yet. I can't be back and forth between here and there all the time, and there aren't any cameras in this building."

"Thank you," the doctor repeated. "We'll go have a look at it."

The two set off in the direction the doorman had indicated.

"Good luck, boys," he called to them. "I pray you won't need it."

_A/N: So did you enjoy the references? I couldn't resist. I really hope you like this chapter; things are starting to pick up a bit! Things are about to get interesting… Well I think they are anyway, I guess we'll have to see about you guys. Please, please, PLEASE let me know what you think! I haven't gotten any feedback from you guys and it's making me wonder if anyone likes it… One more thing; please check out my profile for more info on this story and its developments, my attempt at scheduling the release of chapters, and what's going on with it in general. I promise if you go look at it the way I'm going to be posting chapters after this will make a lot more sense. Thanks so much and I'll see you next time! _


	4. Chapter 4 Lost and Found

**Lost and Found**

After they examined the staircase entrance the doorman had told them about, the boys went back up to Maura's flat.

"What did she find out?" Sherlock asked as the two set off up the stairs.

"She said she might have figured out who it was that found out about Emily. She still isn't sure why they would come all this way and take her. But at least it's a start." Suddenly John remembered something. "Hey, you never told me what Dean said when you asked him if he'd seen anything."

"Oh," the detective paused. "He told me that his mum doesn't let him out of the flat after eight, but the night Emily was taken he snuck out. Cas was going to meet him at Emily's door and the three of them were going to hang out in Maura's flat so long as they left before she got home. He met Cas at the door but Emily never showed; she never opened the door for them. So they went back to their flats."

"So that's why Emily let the kidnappers in; she thought it was Dean and Cas."

The detective nodded. They rounded the corner from the stairwell and made their way down the hall to Maura's flat. John knocked on the door.

"Maura? It's us."

No answer. He knocked again. Nothing. They waited for a minute or two then Sherlock pulled a small device from his coat pocket and picked the lock with it. It clicked open, and an expression passed between them that required no words.

_Ready?_

_Ready._

Sherlock pushed the door open and John rushed in with his gun at the ready. Sherlock stepped in after him, but they found the flat empty.

"Maura!" John called. "Maura are you here?"

The two men searched every nook and cranny of the diminutive flat but Maura was nowhere to be found. They stood at a corner of the dining table and stared at each other in perplexity. Then the phone rang. The doctor and detective instantly looked to Maura's land line. It rang twice while they decided whether to answer it. Then Sherlock took three long, hastened strides and grabbed it.

"Hello?"

A voice that had obviously been altered and bore an American accent greeted him:

"Hello, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

The detective put the phone on speaker.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Don't ask, and don't worry about Maura; she's safe with us. You and your partner John Watson seem to have made quite an impression on her. She has informed us that you'll find her. We have assured her that you won't. If you ever want to see her again call this number back with your cell and tell us where the money is. If you're as smart as she says; you'll have figured it out by now. Tell us where it is and we'll collect it and leave Maura in its place. Emily's been lost; you don't want to lose her mother too."

**Click.**

The doctor looked at Sherlock expectantly.

"What are they talking about? 'Emily's been lost'? And what money? She said it would take her years to make as much as they wanted."

Sherlock waved away his questions.

"This case is becoming more and more fascinating…"

"Sherlock! Focus, would you? We have to find Maura. And Emily; if she's… if she's still…"

"If she still alive, John. Which she most likely is. If she was dead they wouldn't have much leverage over Maura. And if she was dead-"

"Could you stop saying that?" John implored.

"Saying what?" Sherlock asked.

"If she was… dead," the doctor spoke meekly, and quieted noticeably on the last word. He had seen plenty of men and women die as an army doctor, and that's not to say it made it any easier, but children… He hated the thought. Sherlock made an exasperated noise.

"I've told you before, John; caring won't help save them and I don't intend upon watering down the facts." John's eyes were big, round, and sad when they fell on the detective.

"Please?" Sherlock remained silent for a few moments as he took in the doctor's expression.

"Emily is probably alive because if she wasn't then they would have said so specifically; as a threat. They didn't. They said she was 'lost.' Something must have happened that removed her from their radar; something out of their control. She's most likely alive, but they don't have her anymore, John."

"Thank you," the doctor said quietly.

"Just giving you the facts," the detective replied nonchalantly.

"So what now?" John wondered aloud.

"We need to dig into Maura's past; find out everything we can about what and who she left behind in America." Sherlock began to take off his coat. "Someone she used to know heard about her child somehow and decided to use Emily against her. What I can't figure out is why… We need to stay here at her flat."

John shimmied out of his coat.

"And what about Maura and Emily? How do we find them?"

"I can't know what happened to Emily or where either of them are until I know who took them."

"Okay," John sighed as he tossed his coat over a chair. He wandered over to Maura's computer to see if he could piece together what she'd found before she was taken. Sherlock rifled through the numerous scraps of paper that littered the dining table. Most of them were just phone numbers and notes from the people Maura had called when Emily went missing. A few others were random reminders that she had yet to tack up on the corkboard overlooking the table. The detective scrutinized them; he found nothing out of the ordinary. School functions, dentist appointments, miscellaneous everyday things that were all mirrored on the calendar hanging about a metre to its right. Everything except…

"John?"

The doctor brightened and looked away from the laptop.

"What? Did you find something?"

"Do you notice something odd about this flat?"

John sighed and glanced about, but found nothing profoundly peculiar.

"No, Sherlock. Why?"

"Look around; the flat's full of pictures. They're everywhere." He was right of course; they were in frames and out of frames, sitting on side tables where there was space and taped to the walls or tacked to the corkboard where there was not. The detective pointed at each picture in turn as he explained them.

"Maura and Emily the day she adopted her, Emily's first day of school, her birthday parties, Maura and Emily with her friends from America, the two of them everywhere-"

"What does this have to do with anything?" John interrupted. Sherlock huffed.

"Don't you see? She takes pictures of everything. She hoards tangible forms of memory. But there is not a single picture or memento of her parents or from her childhood home. Except for this one."

John's line of sight followed the detective's finger over to the corkboard. Pinned in the corner of it was a solitary photograph of a couple with a young child. It was badly damaged; the edges were burned and a few bubbles had formed. But it was intact enough to see the subject matter clearly. They had been a happy, loving family.

"That is a bit odd, I suppose," the doctor agreed. "But how does it help us? What do you think it means? Is she ashamed of whatever happened in America?"

"A reasonable assumption, but not the right one. If she were ashamed she would have hidden the picture, kept it somewhere private. It's badly burned, and yet she still has it. John, this is the only picture she has of them. They must have died in a house fire."

John absorbed the information.

"Okay so they died in a house fire, Maura somehow survived, but everything they had was gone. Even their pictures."

"Yes, save for this one," Sherlock reiterated.

"The question is, if she's so sentimental, why leave all that behind? She wants to remember, and the only thing she has left of them is the _one_ photograph and the community she lived in. So why come to London? Why run away from her past like she has?"

"You still think she's ashamed of something." It wasn't a question so much as a request for the doctor to explain his reasoning.

"I'm just saying it doesn't seem right. You say she likes to keep tangible memories and I agree with you. But if that's true Maura leaving the town or city where she grew up, and where people remembered her parents… it doesn't fit the pattern," John mused.

"I suppose you're right."

"What was that?"

"You are correct, John. Good deduction. You're smarter than people give you credit for."

"Smarter than _you_ give me credit for, you mean. Can I get that in writing? I might have it framed."

"Oh, shut up."

The doctor laughed. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John's laughter was contagious. When one of them laughed the other couldn't help but do the same; they had been that way from the beginning.

When they recovered from their miniature fit there was a short silence. John broke it.

"Well, that's progress but what exactly does it have to do with the case?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Or everything. Who knows? Now stop asking ridiculous questions and let's find some answers," the detective said as he marched over to the doctor's side. John sighed and shook his head. That was Sherlock.

"Move over," the detective ordered. He leaned over John's shoulder and began tapping at the laptop's keyboard.

"What are you doing?"

"The people Maura was talking to before she was taken gave her a lead. If we speak with them perhaps they'll give it to us. And maybe they can shed some light on the reason Maura left America while we're at it. We'll find out if it's relevant."

"Okay, but what are you going to do just call them? 'Oh, hello we're trying to find your friend's kidnapped daughter and now she's been kidnapped as well, can you tell us why she left America?'" John mocked.

"That's exactly what we're going to do."

"Really?"

"Yes. But without the horrible sarcasm, preferably."

"Sherlock I'm sure sarcasm is the least of our worries."

The men chuckled. Sherlock went to Maura's call history and clicked on the most recent contact. The program made a noise that resembled bubbles surfacing from underwater until the call was answered.

"Did you find something Maur- Hello. Who are you?" questioned the woman on the screen.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, this is John Watson, and we're trying to find Maura and her daughter. Can you help us?"

"Oh, so you're the ones she told us about. My name's Sarah. Funny she forgot to mention how handsome you are… Wait you said Maura _and_ her daughter. Did something happen to Maura?"

"Whoever kidnapped Emily seems to have lost her and taken Maura instead," John provided.

"_Lost her?_ They kidnapped a seven-year-old and lost her. How'd they manage that? That's not very professional…"

"No, I suppose not. But that's not the point. After she talked to you she told us she had a lead. What did you tell her Sarah? Do you know who took them?" the detective prompted.

"Hold on a second. VIVIAN!" the woman yelled.

"What? Did Maura call back?" the boys heard muffled questions and shortly after the Vivian that had been called moseyed onto the screen.

"Well not exactly," Sarah answered. "This is Sherlock and John, the ones Maura told us were helping her. She's been kidnapped too. They need to know what we told her."

"Oh my god… Okay," Vivian complied. "I'm Vivian by the way, in case you didn't get that from the yelling." She turned to her twin. "Do you think we should tell them? About the fire?"

"Vivian if it's going to help them find her then we should tell them whatever they want to know!" Sarah exclaimed.

"Alright! Geez, no need to yell." She turned back to the screen. "There's something you have to understand about Maura. She's… a bit of a pyro. She has been ever since she was a kid."

"Yes, I gathered that from the multiple candles, and the fact that she has an ashtray and two lighters but has never smoked," Sherlock confirmed.

The sisters mirrored each other's impressed expressions.

"Wow," Sarah spoke first. "You really are good."

"Yeah, don't inflate his ego too much," John teased. The detective glared.

"Anyway," Vivian continued, "she's always been fascinated by fire but she was always careful, never destructive. One day she was at her parents' house visiting from college and the house caught fire. It burned completely down, nothing was salvageable. Her parents died, but thankfully Maura survived. Unfortunately after that everything got really nasty."

"What kind of nasty?" John inquired.

"Well there were a few ass-hats who seemed to think that Maura had started the fire with the intention of killing her parents."

"Why's that?" Sherlock probed. Sarah answered this time.

"For the inheritance. There were rumors going around that the Langley's were richer than they let on. People said that they had some sort of relic or historical artifact or something hidden somewhere secret."

"Like buried treasure?" the detective's eyes lit up. John grinned as he remembered how Mycroft had told him years ago about Sherlock's early interest in piracy.

"I guess. But no one knew if it was true; not even Maura knew. Until recently they thought the will burned with the house; so nobody had any real evidence of Maura having motive. But they still made life hell for her. After a while she had had enough and decided to move to London. So she saved up and after a few years she had what she needed. She packed everything she had and left. Didn't say a word to anyone but us. We would have gone with her, but our parents need us here. So we visit each other whenever we can and keep in touch. We try to video chat at least once a week."

"You said until _recently_ they thought the will burned with the house. They found it?" the detective suggested.

"Yes, a little over six months ago. There was a copy of it in a safe deposit box at their bank."

"And? What does it say?"

John could hear the excitement in Sherlock's voice.

"Maura got everything, which they already knew. She's an only child and they had no other close family. What's interesting is they found a note with it that they can't read. There's a sentence in English at the top that says Maura is the only one who'll understand it and then there's a bunch of symbols. So they're thinking that the rumors weren't just rumors."

"What do you think?" Sherlock inquired.

The twins exchanged a look.

"I suppose it's possible."

John tried to bring them back on topic.

"So what does this mean for the case?"

Sherlock seemed to come back to Earth a bit.

"Right, so has anyone done anything suspicious since then?"

"Well a there were a couple of women who had been particularly hard on Maura that seemed to take the whole thing as complete proof that Maura had motive and everything. They wanted to bring her back here and put her on trial for it, which is completely ridiculous. They couldn't get anybody to agree though; thank God. They up and disappeared about three weeks ago; nobody has seen them since. I'd say that's pretty suspicious."

"Very," the detective murmured to himself.

"Any idea where they'd go?" John asked.

"Nope. They just took off. Didn't tell a soul."

"Alright well thank you for the information. If you could possibly get that note they found to us that would be helpful. And if you could tell us their names?" Sherlock requested.

"Olivia Madison and Rebecca Johnson."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

"Bye now," the detective closed the laptop.

"What are you doing?"

"That's all the useful information the twins can give us. Now we have to figure out where they've taken her. I'll just have to do my best to track them…"

"Track them? Sherlock since when do you have any tracking skills?"

The detective threw him a somewhat insulted look.

"I'll have you know my tracking skills are very refined, thank you. How do you think I followed you to that meeting with Irene without you noticing?"

"Fair point."

"Exactly. Now if we can-"

Sherlock's mobile interrupted him.

"Sherlock Holmes," he answered.

He paused as someone replied.

"Lestrade? Lestrade what is it? We're busy…" Sherlock dismissed the DI as John looked up at him quizzically. _Perhaps he's got a case for us?_ The doctor thought. _Well, in that case Sherlock's right, we can't abandon this._ The detective remained silent for a few moments and John could hear the DI's voice on the other end. He couldn't make out any words, however.

"Alright, we'll be right there," Sherlock hung up.

"What did he want?" John asked. Sherlock brought his gaze to the doctor. John saw curiosity in the detective's eyes, and that knowing sparkle he tended to get when he had an idea.

"He said he was at our flat with Mrs. Hudson. He said he had someone there who'd like to talk to us."

"Can't it wait? This is kind of important…" John protested. The detective shook his head as he grabbed his coat and scarf.

"Lestrade said it was urgent, that a little girl wanted to see us."

The doctor's eyebrows shot up.

"A little girl? Why would a little girl want to see us? Did he say she had a case, or if she was with her parents?"

Sherlock shook his head again.

"He said nothing more than what I told you. But I have an idea…" he said on the way out the door. John shrugged and sighed.

"You always do."

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Back on Baker St. the boys clambered out of the taxi and up the steps to 221B. When they opened the door they found Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson having tea at the kitchen table. The landlady got to her feet as soon as she saw them.

"Oh, good; you boys are back. Greg! Sherlock and John are back."

Lestrade stood and pushed his chair in, chuckling.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson; I see." The doctor and detective looked around.

"Where's the girl?" John wondered aloud. Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly.

"She's upstairs, dearies. She's taking a nap on the couch. Oh she is the sweetest thing!"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson I'm sure. Can we see her now?" Sherlock pressed. The four of them made their way upstairs and into the sitting room. Lestrade strode as quietly as he could manage over to the end of the couch closest to the sleeping child's head. Mrs. Hudson sat softly on the empty cushion by the girl's feet; so as not to wake her. Sherlock stopped at Lestrade's side and John by his. The corners of the doctor's lips turned upward at the sight of the girl sleeping soundly on their couch. Her unruly ginger curls splayed like fire across the pillow and her pale face twitched once or twice in her dreaming. The numerous freckles that dotted her still round face served only to make her even more darling. The Union Jack pillow was tucked under her small arm like a teddy bear. In John's eyes she was nearly angelic. And there was something vaguely familiar about her…

The doctor's gaze finally left the girl to find the face of his flat mate who was studying every inch of her. John gave an inaudible sigh. Sherlock probably saw only the smudge of dirt on her pale cheek, and the same on her hands. John warmed when he saw the undeniable upward curve of the corner of his flat mate's mouth. The detective's eyes flicked over to the small pair of shoes in the corner of the room. Mud, and was that blood on the heel? He would examine them at closer range later. The girl's hair was a bit grungy but she otherwise looked relatively well taken care of. The blanket was in the way of much further examination, but Sherlock didn't dare do anything that may wake the girl with Mrs. Hudson, John, and Lestrade all present. He knew they wouldn't take kindly to it. Besides; she was peaceful now and after his last encounter with kidnapped children well… Let's just say he wasn't eager to have a little girl scream at the sight of him again.

Only seconds had passed as the detective and his blogger took in the fiery angel at 221 B. Greg grinned at the pair and quietly announced:

"Boys; meet Ms. Emily Kenna Langley."

_A/N: Happy New Year everyone! :D I hope 2014 brings you happiness. 3_

_Also, I apologize for taking so long to put out a chapter. I would have stuck to my schedule of publishing on Wednesdays, but it was Christmas and 1) I was busy and 2) I figured most other people were busy doing stuff with family or whoever so nobody would get to it until later. I've been meaning to write, but Christmas break has been busier than I thought. I still haven't finished chapter 5, and because of that I was very reluctant to publish this chapter. However, I am going on a trip for about a week and I will very likely not have Wi-Fi, so I didn't want to make you guys wait that long. Obviously I didn't get all of it out by New Year. From now on I will attempt to stick to my Wednesday schedule, but we'll just have to see how things go. There won't be a chapter out this coming Wednesday because of the aforementioned trip. However I am hoping to be able to get some writing done while I'm gone. Enjoy the season three premiere and as always thank you to my amazing beta mylovelymindpalace and thank you all for reading! Please let me know what you think; it helps motivate me to write. _

_(Sorry if you got excited when I posted this the second time. I know it's not a new chapter, sorry. But I needed to do some minor fixes.) _


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